Bill Nighy makes a mean cocktail

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Dreams, Personal, Writing

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bill nighy

Published:

11:18am on Thursday 25th March, 2010

I’d been looking forward to the movie for at least thirty seconds, although now I can’t even remember its name. A tired sequel to a Disney franchise, I think; anthropomorphic animals and plants, singing and dancing. Don’t ask me why we wanted to see it. The cinema was actually inside the hotel where she worked, and I was hoping we could make it from the restaurant over to the cinema with enough time to catch the Pepsi adverts.

In the restaurant—upscale dining, large round tables, food that you know is too expensive but feels like a treat to order—I caught her arm. We had to go.

“One more order then I’m ready.”

I followed her over to the bar area, dodging the other staff as they swirled and eddied around the tables, almost falling over the girl crouched at the top of the small flight of stairs cleaning cutlery. I leaned against the smooth top of the bar and watched her as she filled her tray; two coffees and a dark, bitter-looking cocktail.

“I’ll take that for you,” said another anonymous waitresses, leaning across the bar, hand extended to claim and balance the laden tray.

“Thanks,” she said. Dropping her apron in a drawer, she took my hand. “Let’s go!”

Through the restaurant entrance hall, we pushed through the heavy double doors and out into the hotel reception area.

“Just a second,” I said, “there’s something I need to do.”

Cutting diagonally across the broad carpeted floor I entered the small hotel bar. It was empty save for the occupants of the only two stools at the counter; a midget wearing a gold lamé suit, and BAFTA award-winning actor Bill Nighy. Turning to regard me, Nighy slowly rose and moved behind the bar.

“Drink?” he asked, placing a whisky in front of me. I sipped it quickly as the pair watched me. The dwarf hopped down from his stool and moved towards the door.

“Another.” insisted Nighy; this time a shot glass of tequila appeared on the bar.

“No, I’m afraid I really have to go,” I protested. The dwarf stood aside as I left the bar, but turning back I bent down to bring myself level with his ear. “Can you tell me where the toilets are?”

Raising one arm he indicated a door further down the corridor. “Thanks,” I said. Sweet relief.

As I pushed hard on the heavy swing door, I woke up. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I really needed to pee.